At the Barricades of Freedom
by MaplePucks
Summary: America has got a new boss. Sure, he won by questionable means and his demeanor is less than friendly but it should be business as usual after inauguration day. Right? First impressions are the most important. ... And America is pretty sure he just screwed his up. The new boss is less than forgiving too.


**Hello All!**

 **I suppose you can say that is fic was inspired by recent current events. I plan to make this a series. Not sure if Mr. President will get a name in later chapter or is he will just always be "Mr. President". Either way, I hope you will consider following it to see what happens next!**

 **Comment, fave, follow! All good things!**  
 **Ciao for now!**

* * *

It was the slap heard 'round the Oval Office.

But then again, if no one was there to hear it, did it make a sound? Or happen at all?

His cheek was stinging, the gold rings having left their mark and America took a few steadying breaths to recover from the cold shock. Disbelief, anger, hurt all coursed through him like a fire. This was the first time in a long time he had been hit in this office. His fist clenched at his side, his heart hammered in his chest, feeding off the raging adrenaline. A man affronted.

 _"Always speak respectfully to the President, dear. Even if what he says angers you. Always be respectful, no matter what."_

As unbidden as the memory mantra was, America sighed. Mrs. Dolley Madison was still right, 200 years later. He could not be rude, no matter how much the man in front of him warranted a stern telling off. America squared his shoulders.

"Sir, I apologize, I was merely saying-"

"Who the hell do you think you are? Some young punk whose rich Daddy pulled the strings for him to be here. That's what you are. Pathetic. Terrible." The President spat, almost literally spitting on America.

The young nation shook his head.

"Not at all, sire." He bowed, a tendency he had inherited from England when greeting those who held office. "I am the personification of the United States of America. You may call me Amer-"

This time, the slap sent him reeling to the nearby couch. His glasses knocked askew off his face and his nose dripped blood. America was fairly certain he saw stars on the impact. When he looked up again, he cowered. The President was leering over him.

"Let's get this straight. Right here. Right now." He snarled. "I AM the United States of America. Not you. Not you. Some washed up, damn fool kid. I AM America!" He roared, nearly incoherently. It was frightening. America swallowed hard, standing up as best he could. Wow. Wasn't this guy briefed on who he- oh that's right. This incoming President had skipped most of his briefings since November. Maybe it was best to fill him in. Respectfully, of course.

"Certainly, sir. You are the President, you represent us to the world. But I'm no kid, Mr. President, sir. I've been alive for over 200 years. I represent us at the World Conference of Nations, there are others too, other nations-" Once again he was cut off. Would he ever finish a sentence?

"I don't believe you. You're fake. Some rat or something someone sent in. Some one who hates me. Did the media plant you? Of course they did, media scum." He flipped his hand, stalking back over to his desk. America sighed with relief, at least he was out of hitting range. And another thing, why was this guy so obsessed with the media? Bad media at that. It was a bit odd.

America considered his options, going so far as to ask himself what Canada would do in this situation. That was a laugh, his brother would roll over and let this guy hit him again. That would not do. He took another deep breath.

"Maybe we got off on the wrong foot, sir. It's super important we work together, I've had really good partnerships with your predecessors. The last one was really aweso-" Damn, cut off again. Mrs. Madison's voice was ringing in his ear.

"That's it! That's IT!" The President boomed, his tone alarming America. Something in his eyes danced, something America was at once afraid of. Malice? Triumph? Stupidity? Whatever it was, it wasn't good. A finger jabbed in his direction violently. "You're a damn holdover from the previous administration! He sent you to mock me, huh? Little practical joke. You can't pull the wool over my eyes, I wasn't born yesterday."

 _Could have fooled me._ America thought, raising an eyebrow at the ravings. But he shook his head, holding up his hands in order to show surrender. Humiliating, but he figured this guy wouldn't listen if he didn't. "You misunderstand, I have worked with every administration, starting with Washington. I'm over 200 years old, as I've already mentioned. I promise you, I'm meant to work with you, not against you, sir."

There. Finally a complete sentence. America felt annoyed at his sense of mere accomplishment for achieving that in the conversation. Seriously, this guy was running the nation now, he needn't be so rude. Wow. America mentally kicked himself for that one too. He really was starting to sound like England in his old age.

Typically, America couldn't sense the mood in the room, he was always oblivious. But right now, he felt the heady weight of the moment. It was nearly tangible. His new boss hadn't said anything in response. Actually, he looked mildly constipated or something. His face was screwed up into a contorted look of… agony? Anger? Physical pain? Fear? America couldn't place it but he knew something was wrong.

"Uh… Boss? You ok?" He asked timidly. He drew back immediately as the look on his boss's face turned to ice that lanced through him. It was a fast, creepy turn of attitude. Way too fast.

"You're fired."

America cocked his head to the side, did he hear him right? This has to be a joke. Sure, the President wasn't briefed on the whole personification thing, but he didn't have grounds- or authority- to fire him? Did he? Is that really what he heard?

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said. You. Are. FIRED! Security!" He called, going over to the hidden door of Oval Office. At once, Secret Service men, clad in their black, intimidating suits flooded the room. America and his Boss were surrounded at once. "I want him out of here. Out of the White House, out of my sight. I want his real name, and everything else about this loser, in a file on my desk by morning. Place his alias "America" followed by his real name on every do not allow list we have. I want him gone."

They all stood around, some wide eyed, some in shock. America spied several agents that he knew personally, that he had been friends with for years. They all looked bewildered, some even amused. But then, they all seem to heave a sigh of collective relief. A misunderstanding. A joke maybe. This can't be happening. For a beat of time, America thought this would all end in laughter.

It was a beat too long. Anger returned to his boss's face, horrible raw anger. It was like watching a two year old become spitty after being told he couldn't have his way. "Did you not hear me?! I. Want. Him. GONE! NOW, move your asses!"

They really had no choice after that, America knew that well enough. He winced, more out of reflex than pain, as he was forcibly grabbed, and pulled from the office. His mind was reeling but all he could think of was that the men were doing a good job at making this a show for the new boss. _Placate him, boys. He'll come around. I don't hold any of you responsible. In this economy, gotta do what ya gotta do to keep your job, am I right?_

The last image he had of the new President was his smug face, arms crossed in front of his chest in arrogant triumph.

Moments later, America was deposited into a car waiting out front. Standard procedure for people fired from the White House, driven off the premises to a random location. The Secret Service personal that placed him there were very apologetic, looking worried and nervous. America flashed them a big smile.

"No sweat, boys! I'll totally be back! This is a misunderstanding that will blow right over, dudes!" He laughed as they shut the door. But behind the tinted glass, his laugh fizzled out and his smile faded.

Leaning back in the seat, he fished his phone out of his pocket, sighing as he selected the well known number from his contact list. Something just didn't feel right. He was starting to feel sick.

Placing the phone on speaker, he leaned back into the seat more and closed his eyes. On the second ring, the other line came alive.

 _"Yes, America? What is it? Aren't you meant to be chatting it up with your new boss right now? Don't tell me you blew that off."_

He cringed, "Hello to you too, England." The nation replied sarcastically. He could almost hear the tension shift on the phone.

 _"What's wrong, America? Are you alright?"_

"Uh… well. I kinda got some bad news." He took a breath and paused for a moment. A long moment, England practically whined over the phone.

 _"Tell me right now. Are you alright, America?"_

Moment of truth, his stomach turned and he felt like he was going to throw up. This really wasn't good.

"My boss. He kinda… well. He just fired me."


End file.
